


Atlas Falls

by waywardangel (leviarty)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bickering, Castiel and Dean Winchester and Sam Winchester are Jack Kline's Parents, Castiel and Dean Winchester are Claire Novak's Parents, Domestic Fluff, Episode Fix-It: s15e20 Carry On, First Kiss, Happy Endings For Everyone, Heaven but not, Hell, Jeremy Bearimy, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, Love Confessions, M/M, Old Married Couple, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Retirement, The Empty (Supernatural), The Good Place style, There's some angst too, but mostly it's just boys being allowed to be uncharacteristically happy, canon MCD but it's not permanent, it's a lot of just cute shit, let Dean Winchester say fuck 2k21, mention of suicidal thoughts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2021-01-10
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:54:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 17,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28314144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leviarty/pseuds/waywardangel
Summary: Dean eventually realizes that Heaven isn’t quite what he thought. Actually, it’s Hell.At least he knows the Queen.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Rowena MacLeod & Dean Winchester
Comments: 6
Kudos: 56





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Someone made a [joke](https://outpastthemoat.tumblr.com/post/635692679986053121) about the finale and The Good Place, which I tried to ignore but inevitably I couldn’t. This only takes very loose inspiration from there, but it kind of snowballed into a whole other thing. Enjoy!

In hindsight, he should’ve figured it out _much_ sooner.

Every day in ‘Heaven’ was the same. Dean woke up (“probably just for the sense of normalcy,” Sam had said, when Dean questioned why they needed sleep in the first place), drove around for a while, prayed for Cas and Jack to stop by and visit. The car never needed fixing and most days he would just spend time tidying or making improvements to the little cottage he ‘lived’ in. He’d spend some time with Bobby or Ash or Jo, and then he’d have dinner with Mom and Dad and Sammy.

Given the bizarre passage of time in the eternity of Heaven, the rest of this family—the family he chose, that is—should’ve been there by now. Jody and Donna and Claire and Charlie and… everyone.

He didn’t linger too long on thoughts of them though, because if they were here, then that would mean they were dead, too, and that wasn’t anything he wanted to think about at all.

“Have you seen Jody or anyone?” he asked Sam one evening.

“Yeah, we talked a couple days ago,” Sam said. “They’re just over the ridge.”

“Huh.” Dean nodded thoughtfully. He’d have to go looking for them later.

His house was pretty remote, far from anyone and anything that wasn’t Sam and Mom and Dad. Maybe that was the first sign.

Jack and Cas never responded to his prayers, which perhaps should’ve been the most telling sign of all. He spent hours—sometimes talking to them, sometimes yelling at the sky—and never once got a response.

“They’re around somewhere,” Bobby said, offering him another beer. “You just have to be patient.”

Dean didn’t want to be patient. He wanted to see his angel and their kid. He didn’t care if they were busy fixing heaven or what-the-fuck ever. Surely, they could take five minutes out of eternity just to say _hi_.

Dinner with Mom and Dad was something they had literally never experienced growing up. Their one and only family dinner on earth had been a one-in-a-trillion chance.

Now they did it every ‘night’.

Dean wasn’t entirely sure where the food came from (had Mary’s cooking been improved in Heaven?), but it didn’t seem to matter. They were together.

Of course, together meant Sam and Dad arguing about a different arbitrary topic every night, and though their discussions rarely got heated like they had on earth, the familiarity of it was already starting to gnaw at Dean, even after just a few weeks.

Dean let their voices flow around him, not quite taking in anything they were saying as he and Mary cleaned up after dinner. It was comforting, in a way, that though. Familiar.

Mary brought a beautifully decorated cake into the dining room, Dean trailing behind with fresh plates and forks. Whatever argument John and Sam were having was silenced as they commended the cake and began cutting into it.

“Alls I’m sayin’ is,” John said, resuming their conversation a few minutes later. “They can do whatever they want at home, but the gays shouldn’t be out _flaunting_ it like that. It’s too much.”

“Oh,” Dean said, lowering his forkful of cake to his plate as all of the pieces slipped into place.

“Dean?” Mary asked.

“This is the bad place,” Dean said.

Sam furrowed his brow. “What?”

“All of this… it’s not real, is it?”

Mary pressed the back of her hand to his forehead. “Hmm, no fever. Are you feeling okay?”

“This isn’t Heaven,” Dean said. He let out a mirthless laugh. “Shit, it’s so obvious. I’m an idiot.”

“What are you talkin’ about, Dean?” John asked.

“All of this!” he shouted, standing so quickly that his chair knocked over. “Sammy seeing all our friends when I’m not around, this cake, your stupid, _constant_ arguing—you had me going on that one, because it’s exactly what they would do. But if this really was my heaven… Then my dad wouldn’t be here.”

“Dean!” Mary said, gasping in shock.

“I’m not denying the lot of good he did. I’m not. I’m not even denying that I love him, because I do. But my memories of him aren’t _happy_. If this is my heaven, then he wouldn’t be in it, not like this. And the one person who should be, the one person I want here _more than anything_ … isn’t. Ergo… this isn’t Heaven. I’m in Hell. Again.”

Really, he should’ve seen it much sooner. The signs were all there. The same song playing over and over through Baby’s speakers. The stupid house that he kind of hated. Cas and Jack nowhere to be found, and the rest of his found family always just out of reach.

He loved John and Mary, _he did_. But eating dinner with them every night wasn’t Heaven… it was slow, methodical torture. It was revisiting 25 years of guilt-tripping and gaslighting, hiding under the guise of a happy family. It was all the bullshit that had been fed into his brain over the years, all the shit he’d painstakingly tried to move on from, presented before him once again as though it were a gift…

“Gotta hand it to you folks. Getting creative with the torture. Not just physical anymore, now you’re getting into the mind games.”

He woke on a cold stone floor, a pounding in his head and a mass of red hair hanging over him.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” Rowena said.

“Nice to see you to, Ro,” he said groggily. He groaned, pulling himself into a sitting position. “What the hell is going on?”

“A rogue demon, I suspect.” She rose to her feet, looking down at him. “My people are working on it.”

“How’d you find me?”

“One of my most loyal mentioned spotting a Winchester in the oubliette, and, well, _you’re not supposed to be here_ ,” he repeated.

“No, I’m supposed to be in Heaven.”

“You’re supposed to be alive,” she corrected.

“Yeah, well. We don’t all get what we deserve now, do we,” he said.

“Of course, we do,” she said, a smile quirking at the corners of her mouth. “If we _take it_.” She gave him a moment longer to nurse the ebbing ache in his head. “Feeling well enough to stand yet?” she asked.

“I think so.”

“Good. With me,” she said, turning and walking out the chamber door, her heels clicking loudly on the stone floor. It was a moment before Dean could fully stand, but once he did, he found it surprisingly easy to jog to catch up.

His first trip to hell had been terror. It was exactly what it was expected to be. Ruled by Lilith and Alastair, it was, in every sense of the word, _hell_. Under Crowley, there had been changes, constant shifts in the structure of things until the king had lost interest and eventually lost power too. It was still hell, though, still an overwhelming pit of despair, obvious even from Dean’s limited, outside view.

Rowena’s Hell felt completely different.

If he didn’t know better, if he hadn’t already been here before, he might not have even realized where he was. There was a slight chill in the air, and there was no blood, no wailing, no maniacal laugher. It almost felt empty. It felt _clean_. Not sterile or anything like that, but more like an old, but well-kept castle.

Demons passed them in the hall, silent soldiers and nothing more. They stopped, kneeling to their Queen as she passed, the carried on about their business. Dean found himself almost wondering if any of the other rulers had commanded Hell quite like she did—certainly Lucifer had garnered their fear and respect, but somehow it didn’t seem like it would’ve been quite like this.

“So, I didn’t ask before, but… Are you a demon now?”

“Would it make a difference?” she asked. The large, intricate doors to the throne room swung open of their own accord, allowing them passage. She waved for the demons there to leave them before the doors closed again.

He shrugged. “Probably not.” It wasn’t like he hadn’t been friends with monsters before. “You just don’t seem very demon-y.”

“That’s just the side you get to see,” she said. “But you’re correct, I’m not a demon. Best keep that to yourself though.”

“They don’t know?”

She made an uncertain sound. “I wield an incredible amount of magic and project the illusion of demon-like power. No one’s ever _asked_ if I was a demon before, presumably because they assumed that I am.”

“Got it, don’t shatter the illusion while I’m here.”

Her smile wavered as she sat down in her throne. “Unfortunately, that may be a bit longer than you would like. Soul transferal isn’t so easy.” Then her lips grew into a wry grin. “Then again, you could always rule at my side.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “No offense, Ro, but you’re not really my type.”

She nodded knowingly. “Where is that angel of yours? You were feuding, last I saw, but I can’t imagine he would’ve let you _die_.”

Dean’s face fell. He shook his head. “He didn’t. And we weren’t _feuding_.”

“You worked things out then?”

“Yeah. And then he was by the Empty.”

“Oh?” she asked, sitting up a little straighter in her throne, her interest piqued. “A moment of _pure happiness_.”

“You knew?” he asked. Perhaps he shouldn’t have been surprised. She always seemed to know more than she was letting on.

She nodded. “What was it then? A kiss, perhaps? Or maybe something like the pretty vampire on that dreadful teenage drama?”

Dean snorted. “I wish,” he said, then cringed. He hadn’t meant for it to sound quite like that. “He told me that he loved me.”

Rowena waited a moment for him to continue. “Aaand?” she asked when he didn’t elaborate, her eyebrows arching toward her hair.

“And nothing. The Empty came and took him too quickly. He told me that he loved me, and then he was gone.”

Rowena grimaced. “That’s it?”

“He’s gone, Rowena, what do you want?”

“I just thought it would be something more… profound. Did you say it back at least?”

Dean closed his eyes and shook his head. “There wasn’t time.” He sighed. That wasn't quite true though, was it? There had been time, mere moments where he could've said something, _anything_ , if he hadn't been paralyzed by it.

Rowena hopped to her feet, waving her arms dramatically, spurring the walls to move and shift around them. A long, stone alter slid out from one wall, while another wall opened to reveal books and tomes, and yet another opened like a cabinet, filled with horrible-sounding potion ingredients.

“What are you doing?”

“Launching the rescue mission, of course!”

“ _What_? You know how to save him—and you’re just _now_ saying something?”

“It’s Hell, dear, you’re meant to suffer a little bit. But you clearly already have, so we’re skipping ahead to the good part. Hop up,” she said, patting the stone alter.

Dean unblinkingly obeyed, sitting down on the alter, then lying back when she instructed him to do so.

“Now,” she said, as she ran her finger down the spines of the books on the nearest shelf. “I don’t _exactly_ know how to save him. It’s never been done before. But I have had a long time to think about it, and quite a few ideas. First things first, we have to find a way to get you there—”

“What?”

“It’s fine dear, humans don’t exactly belong; getting back out if things go awry shouldn’t be terribly difficult.”

“That’s not making me feel better.”

“Do you want your angel back or not?”

Dean set his jaw. “What do we have to do?”

Rowena’s hands hovered over him as she moved around, muttering arcane gibberish, much like she had done to Jack when he was sick. It felt like eons had passed since then.

“You’re well-travelled,” she said. “And I don’t mean your cross-country road trips. Heaven, Hell, a half dozen alternate universes. Avalon?” Dean nodded. “I knew a few coven-mates who ended up there for a while. You’re lucky you made it back in one piece.” She hummed. “I may be able to use your soul as a sort of road map, to triangulate the most likely location of the Empty.”

“You can do that?”

“I have no bloody idea, dear. We’re in uncharted waters.” She closed her eyes, focusing on whatever she was trying to read in his soul. “There’s something else… something… it’s not dark, not really… Not like Hell, but not like Heaven either. It’s significant, but I don’t recognize it.”

“Purgatory,” he said. He’d spent more time there than almost any other place besides earth. Only his time in Hell was more significant in terms of duration.

“Really?” she said, her hands falling to her side as she looked at him with raised brows.

He shrugged. “Cas and I were trapped there for over a year. It was a while ago. Though, we did go back after we saw you last.”

She hummed again. “That might be helpful, actually. The two of you have Heaven, Hell, and Purgatory in common, yes? And presumably at least a handful of the alternate worlds you’ve been to. That may be enough to forge a connection.” Her hands resumed their work, glowing faintly where they hovered over him. “I am curious though… why was this place to important to you? What is it?”

“It was… pure.” That was always the word that seemed to fit, nothing else could describe how he felt about it. “It where monsters go when they die, and I always knew who the bad guys were.”

“You against the world.”

Dean nodded. “I met one of my best friends there, actually.”

Rowena stopped what she was doing again to give him an incredulous look. “Dean Winchester found a best friend in monster afterlife? Aren’t you an enigma?”

“He was a vampire and it wasn’t a fast friendship; I’ll give you that. And, I don’t know. There was something about that place. It was bloody and brutal. I wouldn’t ever go back willingly. But my memories of it aren’t bad ones, they’re…” he trailed of, not quite sure what word he was looking for.

“Fond?” Rowena supplied.

Dean shrugged. “I guess, kinda.”

“It’s where you fell in love with Castiel,” she said.

“Yeah, maybe.” Maybe he’d been in love with Cas before that, and only started to realize it then. But whatever he felt for the angels all that time ago, it paled to what he felt in the past few years. What he felt now.

“You know,” she said, changing the subject. “There is still a sliver of Michael’s grace attached to your soul.”

“ _What_?”

“There’s possibly some in mine as well, though you did spend much more time with him. Nothing to be concerned about, in fact… hmm. That, combined with the flecks of demonic residue, might be enough to trick the Empty into letting you in.”

“Shame I didn’t ask you for help before I died,” Dean muttered.

She hummed. “Yes, why am I always your last resort? A girl with lesser self-respect might be hurt.”

“Hardly the last resort,” he said. He hadn’t told anyone he was looking for a way to get Cas out of the Empty, not even Sam. He’d prayed to Jack, but true to his word, the kid was staying out of things. It was complete and utter bullshit that Cas hadn’t been brought back with everyone else, and maybe Dean should’ve been more angry at Jack for it, but… mostly he just missed him. It had only been a few weeks between defeating Chuck and then Dean’s death, and…

Well, what was the point of free will if he didn’t have his family there with him.

Shit.

“Ro, I need a minute,” he said, sitting up and stepping away from the alter.

“What’s the matter?”

He shook his head.

“You’ve spent your whole life hiding your feelings; now you’re dead, and you’re just going to… keep hiding? What’s the purpose?”

Dean sighed and shook his head. “I just gave up,” he said. “Cas was dead, and Jack was gone and I… I gave up. How could I do that to Sammy? He was missing them too, and I just abandoned him. What the hell was I thinking?”

“You weren’t thinking, dear, you were hurting,” she said.

“Dean, I need you to be realistic. What we are about to try have never been done before. You may end up trapped in that place. You may not make it at all. And if, by some miracle, you and he manage to make it out… you died. And if I know Samuel—”

“He’ll have burned the body, I know.”

“It’s likely that neither of you will have a corporeal form on Earth. I might be able to find a work around, but… I can’t promise anything.”

Dean nodded. “I know.”

Rowena nodded back. “If you find him… don’t let him go. And if you make it out of that place, come find me. Maybe when you return, the two of you can join the royal court. You can be my dukes,” she said with a smile.

“Why does that sound kinky?”

“It doesn’t have to be,” she said with a wink.

Rowena’s spell, whatever it was, felt like it was tearing him apart. Seemingly endless pain, torture. Hell.

He could’ve laughed, if he wasn’t so focused on not screaming out. Was that all this was—a grand design just to torment him a little more?

But then…

When the pain eventually subsided, he was no longer in Rowena’s throne room, but in a vast and empty—Empty.

“Well shit,” he said aloud. He’d actually made it. He rose to his feet, a faint echo of pain still residing in his limbs, and circled, trying to gain his bearings. It was a futile effort though, because much as its name suggested, it was empty. But it was more than that. It was complete and unending darkness. It was silence. Desolation.

How the hell was he supposed to find Cas in this?

 _‘Let your soul guide you,’_ Rowena had told him. He hadn’t really known what that meant at the time, and he felt even less sure now. Nevertheless, he closed his eyes and breathed, waiting for _something_ to guide him.

Eventually, he opened his eyes and stepped forward, his feet meeting a hard floor he couldn’t see—everything looked the same here. There was no floor or ceiling or walls, just unending blackness in every direction. He tried not to think about the fact that he didn’t even really know which way was up and down, doing so made his stomach turn with unease.

He walked, and he walked, and he walked, for minutes or hours or years he wasn’t really sure. He stayed quiet; ‘ _Try not to disturb the entity that rules there_ ,’ Rowena had warned, and he really did try. He didn’t call out for Cas, as badly as he wanted to, for fear that it might wake the Empty, or some asshole angel or demon that also slept there.

But how the hell was he supposed to find Cas in _this?_

At first the silence had been eerie, unsettling in his bones in a way he had never felt in all his years dealing with the most unsettling things the world had to offer. But this was something otherworldly, a different kind of unsettling.

And worse, when he realized it _wasn’t_ silent.

He wasn’t sure when the change occurred… or even if there had been a change at all. Whispers, growls, voices speaking in meaningless tongues, filled the void, but it also filled Dean, crawling beneath his skin. Maybe it had been there all along, filling the space between the silence, and he was only now realizing it.

He shivered. It wasn’t cold, and yet, there was an unshakable chill.

Keep walking

Find Cas.

Keep walking.

Was he even moving? Or merely treading water, stationary in a place without form. He didn’t know.

A memory suddenly crossed his mind, unwanted and unsolicited. John, telling Dean that if he couldn’t save Sammy, he’d have to kill him.

No.

Dean squashed down the memory, but it was only a moment before another took its place. Charlie, dead, bloody and alone.

Kevin, crumpled to the floor, looking every bit as young as Dean had so often forgotten he was.

Jo, ripped to shreds and still trying to fight.

Stop.

Ruby had told Cas about this, hadn’t she? That the Empty was full of sorrow, angels and demons dreaming about and reliving their regrets.

He had a damn lot of those, didn’t he?

Cas dying before his eyes, again and again, a dozen different ways.

Sammy, lifeless in his arms.

Jack, his eyes burned out

Claire, bitten and turning, dying—

Stop.

Claire had survived that. The cure had worked. He pulled the memories that came after, of hugging and laughter and ‘I love you guys’.

Sam had survived too, all the shitty deaths and almost-deaths, he’d made it out every time. Jack had come back. Cas had too, all but once. And Dean was here to reset the scale one more time.

He thought of dinner with Jody and the girls, all awkward but still so full of love.

He thought of his brother, singing off-key to whatever tape Dean had in the deck, grinning to themselves as they lived in a moment where monsters and demons didn’t exist.

He thought of Jo and Ellen, laughing in awe as they tried, fruitlessly, to get Cas drunk.

And he thought of Cas, and all the love Dean had, all the times he looked at the angel and felt just a little bit lighter. How badly he had wanted to touch him, to kiss him, to hold him—

No.

No time for regret.

They would have time for all of that. Because Cas loved Dean, and Dean loved Cas, and they were going to get out of this godforsaken place, and they were going to make up for all the time they’d wasted.

He was going to find him.

He felt something, a tug pulling him, hopefully, toward his angel.

‘ _Hope,’_ Rowena had said. ‘ _Probably won’t be enough to counter it completely, but you need to maintain hope, unless you want the despair to consume you._ ’

Hope, as it turned out, might’ve been just what it took to lead him to Cas.

His trench coat was visible before he was, the tan mass standing out like a beacon in the darkness.

“Cas,” he said, breaking a sigh of relief, running up to reach him that much faster.

Cas, sitting on the floor with his legs crossed, looked up at him in surprise. “No,” he said. “No. It got you too… I thought… No,” he repeated firmly. He rose to his feet, a mix of anger and sorrow and hurt on his face.

Dean shook his head. “It didn’t.”

Cas’ features fell to something more like defeat and annoyance. “Then you’re not real.”

Dean reached forward, taking Cas’ hand in his own. Cas looked down at their clasped hands like a foreign object. “I’m real. We’re real,” Dean said. Cas at him, now only confused. “You told me that, remember? We’re the only thing in our lives that’s real. And you were right. The only thing Chuck didn’t plan, the only thing he couldn’t control. You and me.”

“Dean—”

“I kept thinking,” Dean said. “About what I could’ve done differently. How I could’ve stopped you—”

“You couldn’t have,” Cas said. “I always knew that I would die for you. You couldn’t have stopped me.”

Dean shook his head. “Maybe. If you had known what it would do to me.”

“Dean, what are you saying? What—” his face fell as the worst possibility hit him. “How are you here, Dean?”

Dean shrugged, offering him a guilty, mirthless smile. “I died. A few weeks after we stopped Chuck.”

“Dean,” Cas said, his voice soft and pleading. Like he was begging for it not to be true.

“What the hell was I supposed to do?!” Dean asked. He shook his head. This wasn’t how this conversation was supposed to go. He was supposed to rescue the angel and tell him he loved him too, maybe in that order, maybe not, and deal with the rest of it later. But instead he was compelled to fill in all the gaps, waste more time. “You were gone, and Jack was off making a better universe or whatever, but you were _gone_. And I did everything, I looked through _everything_ trying to find a way to get to you. But it just wasn’t there. And then… it was a stupid hunt, and I got careless, and I… It was so easy, you know. To just… let go.” He shrugged.

“Dean,” Cas said, once again.

“I love you,” Dean said finally. “ _Of course_ , I love you.”

Cas’ mouth fell open in surprise, words trying to form but never quite making it to fruition.

“I’m sorry I didn’t say it before, and I’m sorry I died, and I’m sorry…”

Cas free hand came to rest on Dean’s cheek.

“I thought I couldn’t have you like that,” Dean went on. “But I was content, you know. Being your best friend; watching movies or just driving around or _whatever_. It was enough. You made me better.” He bit his lip, fighting back the tears that had long been threatening to spill. “And now you’re dead, and I’m dead, and I have no idea how I’m supposed to save either of us.”

Cas pursed his lips, now firmly annoyed.

“You’re telling me, you came into the Empty, an ancient and unknown realm, to launch a rescue _without any kind of plan_?” His hands released Dean as he rolled his eyes dramatically and turned away from him entirely. “I’m in love with an idiot.”

Dean smirked. “But you are in love with me.”

And then, suddenly, Cas had turned around again, pressing their lips together in a firm and unyielding kiss. Dean guided his arms around the angel, between his shirt and his coat, pulling him closer.

“You’re an idiot,” Cas said again as he broke away. He rested their foreheads together and just breathed.

“I did have a plan, you know,” Dean said a few moments later. “Rowena and I actually worked on this for weeks, had a whole list of possible plans. They all kind of… went out the window when I got here.” The Empty was too unknown, and all their plans rested on different theories on just how the realm might operate.

“So now what?” Cas asked.

Dean leaned forward, capturing his lips again. He could spend eternity just tasting and touching, making up on all the time they’d lost thinking it wasn’t allowed. Cas kissed him back with equal intensity, desperate to have and feel and just _be_ together.

And then Cas was pulling away, his eyes focused not on Dean, but something behind him. “Dean," he said.

Dean started to turn, but he didn’t need to. The inky blackness around them was changing. Dean felt his smile grow, hope settling in his chest.

“What’s happening?” Cas asked.

In what was once vast emptiness and hopelessness, a tear had started to form. Blue and white light was spilling in, overtaking the void. “Our way out,” Dean said. “The Empty feeds on negative emotion, right? Despair and loneliness and all that?”

Cas nodded.

“So, the opposite is hope and happiness and _togetherness_ ,” he said, knowing how cheesy it sounded and not at all caring in that moment. “It’s weakness. Strangely, this was like… Plan G or something. We considered it, but we didn’t actually think it would work.”

“Dean,” Cas said, directing his attention back to the gaping hole in reality. It had started to recede, if only by a few inches.

Dean turned and kissed him once more. When he pulled away, Cas was giving him that fond, surprised smile again, and Dean couldn’t help but smile back at him. He looked over as the tear grew, spilling more harmony and light into the Empty.

Dean held out his hand, palm up, and waited for Cas to take it.

“Any idea what’d going to happen when we step through there?” Cas asked, lacing their fingers together.

“No fucking clue,” Dean said, squeezing his hand tight. “But at least we’ll be together.”

They stepped forward, letting the light engulf them.


	2. Chapter 2

There was nothing.

And then there was light, so bright that Dean had to shield his eyes as he opened them. He felt Cas move next to him, their hands still clasped tightly together. Cas sat up, then helped Dean to do the same. He looked around, taking in their surroundings—a empty field of bright green grass; they weren’t far from a road, by the looks of it, but there was nothing around for miles except grass and scattered trees.

“Cas? What’s going on? Where are we?”

“We’re on earth. I think… I think we’re alive.” He released Dean’s hand and moved to feel for his pulse.

“How is that possible?”

Cas was at a loss for words. He shrugged. “I had no body to return to last time I escaped the Empty, but somehow a one was created for me,” he said. “Perhaps it’s an unintended quality of leaving the Empty.”

Dean felt his own back, just to be sure. “No scars or anything?”

Cas shook his head. “Even my warding tattoo was gone,” he added, after a moment.

Dean pulled down the collar of his shirt, searching for the familiar crest that protected him from demons. It wasn’t there. “Huh. Factory settings.” He grinned at Cas a little seductively.

Cas rolled his eyes. “Virginity is a social construct, Dean, your past sexual acts are not erased with your death.”

Dean almost laughed, then frowned. That had been something he’d talked about with _Sam_ when he’d returned from Hell. “How do you even know about that conversation, you weren’t there.”

“I wasn’t visible doesn’t mean I wasn’t there.”

“Oh. I forgot you could do that.”

“You always said it was creepy,” Cas said. “And I haven’t had need for it in a while. At present, I’m not sure it’s something I could do even if I wanted to; my grace is running very low.”

Dean’s expression fell to one of worry. “How low are we talking?”

Cas stomach growled with impeccably ironic timing. “Very low, it would seem”

“Right then,” Dean said, pulling them both up to their feet. “Let’s find a burger joint, and then go home.”

They walked along the road for miles. The summer heat hadn’t quite kicked in, but it was warm enough that Dean had tied his flannel around his waist, and even Cas had removed a couple layers, carrying his neatly folded jacket and trench coat.

“We should get you some new clothes,” Dean said, nudging his arm as they walked. “It wouldn’t hurt you to dress down on occasion.

“Does the constant changing of clothes not drive you mad?” Cas asked him.

Dean shrugged. “Not really. It’s like a fresh start to the day.”

Cas hummed thoughtfully.

“Besides,” Dean continued. “If your grace is so low that you need to _eat_ , that means you’re practically human, right? Your clothes won’t just be magically clean anymore. You’ll start to stink.”

Cas rolled his eyes. “It wasn’t _magic_. Though, I suppose it can be said that sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic, so from your perspective, I guess it is magic…”

Dean smiled at him. “It’s good to have you back,” he said.

“How long was I gone?” he asked after a moment.

Dean shrugged. “Not sure, really. 3 days or so before we defeated Chuck, then… 20 days before I died. I thought I was in Heaven, you know?” Cas watched him with a sorrowful expression. “But you weren’t there, and everything was different, and it didn’t feel right. Turns out, I was in hell again. Someone thought it would be fun to play some mind games instead of the usual bloodletting. I don’t really know how much time passed there. How much did it feel like for you?”

“A few hours. Maybe a few days. But time passes differently, we already knew that. Moments in Heaven, decades in Hell, and months on Earth. For all we know, it’s only been a few days since you died. It could also have been several years.”

“Years?” Dean asked. Had he left Sammy alone for _years_ already?

“Maybe,” he said. “It’s not always consistent.” They wouldn’t know for sure until they found their way back to civilization.

As it turned out, it wasn’t terribly far to the nearest… well, it hardly seemed to count as a town. A handful of houses, a gas station, and a church.

“Better than nothing,” Dean said with a shrug, heading for the fill-up joint. Parked out front was an old pickup truck, and an even older Camaro; both looked like they’d seen far better days. “Hey, Toto, it looks like we _are_ still in Kansas,” he said, eyeing the license plates.

“The question is… where in Kansas?” Cas asked as they walked into the shop.

“Hunter,” the girl at the register said, causing Dean to flinch, reaching for a weapon that he didn’t have. “You’re in Hunter, Kansas,” she said. “Jeez, how wasted are you?”

Dean relaxed somewhat. “It’s been a long day,” he said. “Where’s the best place to get a bite around here?”

“Well, there’s a diner around the corner; it’s best, by virtue of being the _only_ place to eat around here.”

He looked at Cas. “Why don’t you go order for us, I’ll catch up in a few. I’m gonna call Sammy.” He turned back to the cashier as Cas ducked back out of the store. “Got a phone I could borrow?” She nodded toward the phone hanging on the wall. “Thanks.” He picked up the phone and dialed.

The phone rang and rang, until it rolled into his voicemail. Dean couldn’t help but smile, hearing his brothers voice, before hanging up and trying another number.

Halfway through the fourth call, growing anxious because he wasn’t answering, his eyes landed on the stack of newspapers on the counter, and he stopped. He slammed the phone back into its holder and picked up the one off the top.

“Is this today?” he asked the cashier.

Dean joined Cas in the diner, slamming the paper down on the table between them. “We have a problem,” he said. “This is yesterday’s paper.” He motioned to the date in the corner; April 23—

“2019?” Cas read aloud. “Today is the day that…”

“Yeah.” The day that Chuck turned on them. The day that Jack died. “How is that possible? That was over a year ago,” he said, his voice hushed though there seemed to be no one around.

Cas sat back in the booth, his hand coming up to his mouth as he contemplated it. “Time isn’t strictly linear,” he started.

“Nope, none of the technical angel mumbo-jumbo. English. What the fuck is going on?”

Cas rolled his eyes in exasperation. “That movie you like, Back to the Future,” he said. “It got some things wrong and some things kind of right. Time travel _is_ possible because time doesn’t move the way you think it does. It loops around on itself sometimes. It rarely happens by _accident_ , but traveling between realms… I guess it’s possible that we exited the Empty at just the right—or rather, wrong—time.”

Dean leaned back as the waitress delivered two plates of burgers. He smiled and thanked her, waiting until she was gone before asking “So how do we get back?”

Cas shook his head. “Even if my grace was a full strength…”

“You still don’t have wings,” Dean finished.

“We’re stuck.”

Cas nodded slowly. “And Dean, we have to be careful. If we interact with ourselves, even indirectly… It could change everything, and not for the better.”

“Eat your burger,” Dean said curtly, his brow furrowed in concentration.

Twenty minutes later, Cas’ plate was empty, and though Dean had finished most of his burger, his fries remained untouched. He was sitting back in his seat, pretending he hadn’t seen Cas sneak a few of the fries away.

Finally, he sat forward again. “So, we lay low for a while.”

“What?” Cas asked.

“Look, we know how things work out. They _do_ work out. Things are hell out there right now, and this year is gonna suck. For them. But we’ve already done it. We know they’re gonna win, and somehow, despite everything, you and I made it out alive. So, we wait. We go out to the middle of nowhere somewhere and wait it out. Let them save the world, and then, once the other me is dead, we go back and find Sammy.”

Cas frowned thoughtfully, stuffing a few more fries in his mouth. “Like a vacation?” he asked.

Dean shrugged. “I think we’ve earned one.”

“There’s just one problem,” Cas said after a few moments of thought. “Right now, He’s distracted. His wound from the Equalizer, playing games with our past selves. But eventually he will realize that we’re here. He’ll sense it.”

“Don’t you worry your pretty little head,” Dean said, smirking. “I have a plan for that, too.” He stood up, sliding his plate toward Cas as he did, and turned to leave the diner. He paused turning back. “Hey, how much cash do you have on you?”

All told, he bought the shitty old Camaro for 600 bucks—and he was going to have to talk to Cas about being a prime target for mugging with that kind of cash in his wallet.

“Dean, this car is—”

“I know.” Shitty. Hardly worth the cash he’d paid, but it would get them where they needed to go, and maybe it would give him something to do for a while. The gears grinded as he shifted, causing them both to cringe. “I’ll fix her up.” He turned out onto the highway. He turned on the stereo, letting it play whatever tape was already in the deck.

 **_♫_ ** _Once I rose above the noise and confusion—_ **_♫_ **

Dean immediately popped the tape out and threw it out the window.

“I thought you liked that song,” Cas said as Dean reached over him to check the glove box for something different.

“I did, until it played on repeat in my eternal not-Heaven. Kinda ruined it for me. Why don’t you dig around in there, see if there’s anything good,” he said, putting both hands back on the wheel.

Instead of checking the glove compartment, Cas closed it and reached into the backseat, pulling forward his trench coat. He retrieved a tape from one of the pockets, and popped it in.

Dean couldn’t help the wide smile that overtook his face. “You know,” he said, a few moments later. “When I made this, I was trying to tell you how I felt.”

Cas stared at him, perplexed. “What?”

Dean laughed, more at himself than anything. “It’s a stupid human courting ritual. I knew you wouldn’t understand, but I did it anyway. I didn’t know how to just say it.” He found himself wondering how different things might’ve gone if he’d just said it then, instead of being so worried about how it would change things between them.

“That was years ago, Dean. You really… All this time?”

Dean nodded. “Longer.” He reached over again, this time to take Cas’ hand in his own.

“Why does it feel like we’re heading toward the bunker?” Cas asked, twenty minutes later.

“Because we are.”

“Dean—” he started.

“ _I know_. We have to be careful. This year’s been so hectic, I don’t think I remember half of where we went or when, but I know for certain that we have two full days before they’re back home.” More than enough time to grab a change of clothes, some spare IDs and credit cards, and figure out some warding.

He would’ve liked to stop in a thrift shop in Lebanon, pick up a few things, but he could hardly drive this clunker around town where anyone could see it and potentially mention it to his past self, so instead they headed straight for the Bunker. He parked the car in the garage, and then raided his clothes for the things he was least likely to notice missing—a blue flannel for Cas, grey for himself, and a set of shirts so faded the band logos were almost completely gone.

Cas frowned at the stack of attired handed to him.

“Hey, man, it’s not my fault you’ve never bothered to leave yourself a change of clothes here. We’ll stop and pick up something more your style once we’re on our way.” Once they were somewhere they might not be recognized.

Cas nodded and accepted the clothes.

“You can take the first shower,” Dean said. “I’ll round up some stuff for the road.”

Cas started to leave, then stopped in the doorway. “Or, you could join me,” he said, before stepping out of the room completely.

Dean stared blankly at the empty doorway for a moment.

He did need to shower too, and there wasn’t much he could get started on just yet, and, _shit_. “When did you get so smooth?” he shouted, grabbing his clothes off the dresser and chasing after him.

They didn’t do anything more than touch and kiss under the shower, helping each other clean the sweat and dirt off, but if they hadn’t been short on time, Dean could’ve stayed there much longer.

As it was, their fingers were wrinkled from being under the water for so long, and Cas had gone off on some rant about the bizarreness of human anatomy as they returned to the war room. Dean was only half-listening to his words, focused more on the sound of his voice as he toweled his hair dry.

“Well, well,” Rowena said, smirking at the two of them. “Shower sex seems awfully adventurous for newlyweds such as yourself.”

Dean rolled his eyes, tossing his towel over the back of one of the chairs.

“What are you doing here, Rowena?” Cas asked.

“Didn’t lover boy tell you? He invited me.”

“Dean,” Cas said, scolding him.

“I’m fairly certain she can keep a secret. And we need her help.”

“So, not an invite for a threesome then, what a shame.” She sat down in one of the chairs, pulling her stack of books closer. “What can I do to help the Winchesters today?”

“Warding,” Dean said.

“Mmhmm. Must be big if your ample supply of books and arcana aren’t enough.” She looked between the two of them, studying each of them closely. “Something is off with you. And I’m not referring to angel in human clothes, or the culmination of a decade of repressed sexual tension, though both are a welcome surprise.”

“We’re from the future,” Dean filled in without hesitation.

“Ah.”

“Dean,” Cas said. “Are you sure we should—”

“Do you see a better option?” Dean asked him. When he didn’t receive an answer, he turned back to Rowena. “In about 18 hours, you’re going to get a call from me. Not now-me, then-me. You can’t tell him about anything you’ve seen here. And we don’t have a lot of time before you’re going to have to meet up with him, and we need to be gone.”

“Right then,” she said, sitting up a little straighter. “Warding against what?”

Seventeen-odd hours later, she had imprinted a magical tattoo on Dean, and was halfway through a matching one on Cas; twin lines of ancient test running down either side of their spines, so faint they were almost invisible.

“I can’t guarantee it will work,” she said. “I’ve never had to ward against _God_ before. What did you boys get yourselves into this time?”

“That’s a story for another time,” Dean said. He’d be telling her the cliff’s notes pretty soon anyway.

As if on cue, her phone began to ring. She paused her ruminations over Cas tattoo, answering the phone and wedging it against her ear before carrying on with her work.

“Oh, hello, _Dean_ ,” she answered dramatically, and for a moment, he was worried he’d been too trusting with her ability to keep a secret. “Well, I’m a wee busy right now, can’t it wait?” She paused, listening to him speak on the other end of the line. “You’ve picked a fight with God, and you need my help? _God_? Well, have you tried apologizing?”

She winked at the Dean standing in front of her, and he could feel the irritation from his past-self even through the phone, though Rowena was just grinning playfully at him. “My _exquisite_ ass, you mean. Yes, dear, I’m just finishing up here, I’ll be there soon.” She hung up, letting the phone drop to the cushion beside her. “You seem extra grumpy,” she said.

“He’s had a bad day,” Dean said. “Bad week, whatever.”

She raised her eyebrows at him as Cas mumbled something unintelligible into the pillow his face was pressed into.

“Yes, okay, Dean Winchester is generally a grumpy human being, that’s not news to anyone. Present me is doing surprisingly okay seeing as I was just in Hell and then the Empty, and then thrown backward in time, but past-present me just lost his mom again and then watched his kid die, give me a break.” He groaned. “Time travel makes my head hurt.”

Rowena’s hands fell to her side in shock. “What happened to Jack?”

“I suspect I won’t be seeing you again for a while,” Rowena said. “Not like this, I mean.”

“No, probably not,” Cas nodded. “Be careful.”

Dean wrapped his arms around her, hugging her tightly. “In a little over a year, a rogue demon will have me locked in the oubliette. I promise that will make sense one day. Just… come find me.”

She patted his back gently and he let her go. “Take care, both of you,” she said. She smiled and hooked her bag over her arm before heading up the stairs to leave.

They spent the next several hours—as much time as they were willing to risk—packing up some spare weapons and supplies and fixing up the car from whatever parts Dean could repurpose from the old Men of Letters cars. It wasn’t nearly as much as Dean wanted to do, but it was enough that he was confident the car could make it at least a few hours without breaking down entirely.

“You’re sure your past self won’t notice?” Cas asked.

“Definitely not. I can’t remember the last time I even got in one of them, let alone drove one. You given any thought to where we’re gonna go?”

Cas shook his head. “I don’t have a preference. I thought, given your propensity for aimless driving, we might just… do that. Unless you prefer to have a set destination in mind.”

Dean smiled and leaned in to kiss him. Because he could. “Drive until we find a reason to stop. I think I like the sound of that.

With no exact destination in mind, they packed themselves into the new-old car, and drive west, chatting about Jack and Sam and Claire, telling each other all the stupid things they didn’t talk about before.

A couple hours in, Cas was stifling his third yawn, and Dean felt a little bad that they didn’t rest up more while they were at the bunker.

“Come ‘ere,” Dean said, patting his thigh. Cas looked at him in confusion. “Come here,” he said again. “Get some sleep, I’ll wake you when I find a place to stay for the night.”

Cas moved himself around until his head was resting on Dean’s lap, and he legs were curled up in the seat. “I always struggled with sleep as a human,” he said, closing his eyes. “I never understood how you just fell asleep.”

Dean chuckled. “Well, it had a lot to do with working myself until I was too exhausted to keep going.”

“That doesn’t sound healthy.”

“I’m not an ideal role model.”

“That’s not true,” Cas said.

“I am the poster child for unhealthy coping mechanisms.”

“Perhaps, but you’ve gotten better. No, you have,” he said, when Dean tried to protest. “The past few years have been rough on all of us, but you’ve handled it all with far more grace than you would have when we first met.”

Dean shook his head. “I guess, yeah. Jack helped, I think. I knew all the unfair shit Dad put on me when I was a kid, but… I guess I didn’t realize how much it affected me until I turned around and tried to put the same weight on him. Sometimes it feels like… one step forward, two steps back. Any self-improvement I’ve achieved gets thrown out the window every time disaster strikes. I tried to _kill_ him. I was willing to go through you to do it. Though Sam, too.”

“But you didn’t.”

Dean shook his head. That didn’t really make a difference, did it? “I was ready to sacrifice everything to stop Chuck. And for what? Free will? What’s the point if I don’t have the three of you to enjoy it with?”

“Dean, stop,” Cas said, his hand settling on Dean’s thigh in an attempt to comfort him. “Have you considered that those moments you hate about yourself were caused by that very lack of free will?”

“That seems like shifting the blame. _God made me do it_. It’s a shitty excuse.”

“Perhaps. But you have to admit, it’s a possibility. A driving factor in your behavior, if not the sole cause of it.”

Dean pondered that thought for a moment, before he decided that it was too much right now. “Get some sleep,” he said, switching over to the radio and turning up the volume.

 **_♫_ ** _Mama told me when I was young_

_Come sit beside me my only son_

_And listen closely to what I say_

_And if you do this it'll help you_

_Some sunny day oh yeah_ **_♫_ **

“Sam always jokes that you can’t sing,” Cas said, his voice already sounding heavy with sleep. “But I think your voice is beautiful.”

Dean blushed but didn’t let it stop him from singing along to the rest of the song, and the next time he looked down at Cas, he was fast asleep.

Dean tried not to wake him when he pulled into the parking lot and climbed out of the car—carefully lowering Cas’ head to the seat as he did—and went into the motel to pay for a room.

Out of habit, he nearly got a double, before changing to a single queen. It was only when he was halfway back to the car that he started to wonder if that decision was too presumptuous. Maybe he should’ve just gone for the double. They’d only been _together_ for a couple days, and, hell, they talked about plenty, but they hadn’t really talked about their relationship status or what exactly it meant for them.

He didn’t have long to panic about it though, and he couldn’t exactly turn back to change the room, because Cas was already awake, sitting up in his seat. He still had a sleepy look in his eyes, and his hair was sticking out in every direction, reminding Dean of how he’d looked when they first met. He smiled, squashing down the voice telling him he’d done something wrong.

“Hey, sleepyhead,” he said, leaning in the passenger side window. In a rare moment of openness, he decided to just _ask_. “So, I booked a single, but I don’t know… if you want a separate bed, I can go switch—” He was mercifully interrupted by Cas’ lips pressed against his own. Dean’s anxiety melted away as Cas thumb traced along his jaw. Dean hummed. “Alright then. Maybe we should move inside though. Motel parking lot in the middle of an unfamiliar town… maybe not the best place for two dudes to be making out. Fun as it is.”

Cas pulled away, rolling his eyes. “Humans are so weird. It would be particularly ironic for us to be the target of a hate crime, given my angelic nature and the tendency for homophobia to be linked to religion.”

Dean chuckled, grabbing their duffel bags out of the back seat. “That’s just an excuse. But I’ll tell you what, tomorrow we can wait for some bigots to try something, then I’ll kick their ass while you explain the error of their ways. After we’ve had a good night’s sleep.”

Cas smiled but shook his head. “I don’t think that will be necessary. It’s a good plan, in the event that something comes up, though.”

As they walked up to their room, Dean took Cas hand in his own, and, regardless of whatever concern he may have had, he ultimately didn’t give a single shit who saw. They’d spent far too long keeping each other at a distance. And anyone who dared try something would find themself on the wrong side of a shotgun barrel or an angel blade.

Despite the nap Cas had taken on the road, he was already in bed, eyes closed but still awake, before Dean had come out of the bathroom. Dean tried not to worry, especially because Cas himself didn’t seem concerned by his newly human-ish state.

“You feeling okay?” Dean asked, as he toed off his boots by the foot of the bed.

Cas nodded. “Just sleepy.”

“Okay. But you’ll tell me if anything's _wrong_?” Cas nodded again and Dean climbed under the sheets, lying down facing him. He kissed him softly, then pulled away, resting his head on the pillow.

Cas opened his eyes, smiling at Dean. “It’s kind of surreal, isn’t it?” he said after a while.

“What?”

“I never thought I could have you like this. I never thought you’d want me like this.”

“I guess we’re both just a couple of dumbasses.”

Cas shook his head. “I prefer… I don’t know. Something less dumb, less ass.”

Dean smiled and kissed him again, cradling his jaw in his hand.

When Dean awoke the next morning, Cas was already awake, staring at him with sleepy eyes and messy hair.

“Were you watching me sleep?” Dean asked.

“I often do.”

“Yeah, why is that?” Dean asked, pulling the blankets over his head to hide from the angel’s gaze.

Cas smiled and pulled the blanket back down. “You’re so peaceful when you sleep,” he said, pressing a kiss to Dean’s lips. “And, well, sometimes you’re not. I used to be able to redirect your dreams if it looked like they were getting too… you know.”

“Hellish?” Dean filled in. Cas nodded. “I didn’t know you did that.”

Cas shrugged. “You never liked it when I looked into your thoughts without permission—which I haven’t done in many years—”

“Obviously.”

“—and I worried you might consider it an unwelcome invasion. Maybe it was. I’m sorry?” he offered.

Dean shook his head. “Nightmare-free sleep is good, even if it came with angelic assistance. I can’t believe you wasted your grace on that though.”

“Not a waste if it meant you got a good night’s rest.”

“You’re a sap,” he said, unable to help the smile curling at his lips. “How did _you_ sleep?”

“Well enough. I feel rested. But this bed is comfortable, and I really don’t want to get out of it,” he said. He rolled over, pulling Dean’s arm over him as he did. Dean succumbed, curling himself around Cas, burying his nose in the crook of his neck from behind.

“We can’t stay here _forever_ , you know,” Dean said, slightly muffled.

“I know. Just a little longer.” Cas stomach growled. “Maybe not too much longer though.”

Dean kissed his neck. “What do you want for breakfast? I think I saw a diner on the way in.”

Cas hummed thoughtfully.

“Eggs, bacon, pancakes,” Dean suggested.

“I find eggs unsettling. I like bacon though.”

“Everyone likes bacon.”

“What about biscuits and gravy?”

“Not as fun as pancakes, but I’m sure we can get you some. Any other requests?”

“Potatoes.”

“You got it.” Dean pressed another kiss to his jaw before sliding out from under the blankets. “I’ll get breakfast, you stay here and enjoy the bed before we get back on the road.”

As it turned out, the diner was just down the street, so Dean didn’t even bother getting in the car. He walked over and put in an order for more food than the two of them could possibly eat (though, he suspected that somehow, they would), and pulled out his phone while he waited. He wished so badly that he could call Sam. Or Jack, or Claire, or Jody, or _anyone_. He’d cloned all their numbers over from one of the phones in the bunker, just in case, but they’d sworn they wouldn’t reach out to anyone until they were all caught up on the timeline. There was too much risk. Dean knew that, in his head, but in his heart, he missed his family.

“Did you hear what happened to the Sanderson girls?” he heard one of the other patrons ask the waitress.

“They’re missing, aren’t they?”

“No, they found them last night. Down Route 24. Sounded like an animal got them or something. Mutilated, throats ripped out.”

Dean closed his eyes and tried to tune it out, tried to ignore it.

“Here ya go,” the other waitress said, interrupting his internal struggle. She handed him a large bag, and a tray with two drinks on it. “Enjoy!”

“Thanks,” he said, taking them and leaving the diner as quick as he could.

It could be a quick open and shut case. One and done before they got back on the road.

Or, it might not be. There was no way of telling if everything would go smoothly. And Dean no longer had the benefit of being A Protagonist in God’s story, Cas no longer had enough grace to protect either of them.

But they knew plenty of hunters who got on just fine without all that.

And plenty who didn’t.

When he got back to the motel room, Cas was no longer in bed, but up and digging through his duffel. Dean quietly set up their breakfast on the little table by the window, while Cas finished setting out his change of clothes for the day.

When they finally both finished up, they sat down, and Cas took one look at him and said. “Alright, what’s the matter?”

Dean could’ve scoffed, could’ve shrugged it off and pretended it was nothing. “Pretty sure there’s a vamp in town,” he said.

Cas studied him for a moment. “And how was that not the first thing you mentioned when you walked through the door?”

Dean sighed. “I don’t wanna deal with it. I wanna just say… let it be somebody else’s problem.”

Cas continued to look at him, silent for far too long. “You died by vampires, right? Are you… afraid?”

“What? _No_.” He hadn’t even thought about that. And actually… “Maybe. I don’t know.” He shook his head. “That’s not the point. We were gonna lie low. I didn’t even pack any monkey suits or IDs.” He took a deep breath, then sighed. “Some other hunter will catch wind and take care of it… but there’s already two girls dead.”

“So, get a message to someone. A hunter that you don’t often talk to.”

Dean nodded. “That’s a good idea.”

Cas knew him too well. “But you aren’t going to sleep until you know it’s taken care of.”

“Nope.”

“I have an FBI badge in my coat,” Cas told him. “I can talk to the cops while you research other leads.”

Dean thought about it for a moment. “Alright, _Agent Beyonce_ , we’ll take this case.” Just this one. And then they could start their vacation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you haven't already heard Jensen's cover of Simple Man, you should [go take a listen](https://open.spotify.com/track/5dSv9WTw9eKZTvgIr1U2PU?si=POnLM9DhR6qiUz1xjlnD8A).


	3. Chapter 3

After breakfast, Cas ditched the flannel and jeans in exchange for his old suit and trench coat.

“You do this on purpose, don’t you,” Dean said, reaching for his tie to fix it.

Cas smiled at him. “Maybe.”

“You little shit,” Dean said, grinning back at him. He tugged him closer, kissing him. When he pulled back, he fixed the tie, and his hair, and smoothed out the lapels of his coat. “Don’t do anything stupid.”

“I think I can handle a conversation with a few sheriff’s deputies,” Cas said, with a slight roll of his eyes.

“Did I say you couldn’t? I just said don’t do anything stupid.”

And maybe that was around the time that Cas realized, all the times Dean had said ‘don’t do anything stupid,’ what he really meant was ‘be careful,’ and even ‘I love you.’

Cas returned to the motel room far quicker than Dean had been expecting. “How could you have possibly had time to talk to anyone? I’ve barely even done any research.”

“I didn’t,” Cas said. “Another hunter is already on it. I saw Lori Townsend coming out of the sheriff’s department.”

Dean frowned, trying to put a face to the name. “Apocalypse world refugee with the curly brown hair?”

“Yes and no. She didn’t come from Apocalypse world, she just made friends with many of the hunters who did.”

“Did she see you?”

Cas shook his head. “No, but she’s a good hunter. We should probably leave before she realizes we’re here.”

They were on the road again inside an hour, and for a while they just drove, paying little attention to where they were going or where they had been. They stopped for lunch in Colorado Springs, then hit up a couple thrift shops in the area. Dean went for his usual—t-shirts and flannels and comfy jeans—while Cas sought out something different, though it was clear from the increasing pile of clothes that he wasn’t sure exactly what that something was. Dean finished up first and sat down near the dressing room with his haul, waiting on Cas to show him what he got.

“This feels silly,” Cas said, stepping out of the fitting room.

“Yeah, it should, that shirt looks ridiculous.”

Cas rolled his eyes. “No, I mean—yes, this is ridiculous.” He stepped back into the room to remove the offending tee. “I meant showing you every article of clothing before purchasing it.” He stepped out again, wearing a truly outrageous Hawaiian shirt Dean had insisted upon.

“It’s a rite of passage,” Dean said. “The montage, you know. Besides, you’ve worn the same outfit for like a decade. You have no idea if you’ll like something until you put it on.”

“I know I don’t like this,” Cas said, frowning at the shapeless floral mass.

Dean waved for him to move on.

“Did you force Jack through this torture?” Cas asked as he changed into the next outfit.

“Of course. He loved every minute of it.” He had taken Jack shopping several times over the past few years, and though Dean didn’t always hold him to showing off what he tried on, they did usually have fun with it. And Jack also seemed to make have of his decisions based on the degrees of horror in Dean’s reaction—that was, he always bought the things Dean was most appalled by.

“I miss him,” Cas said, stepping out in a grey Henley and nice jeans.

“Me too,” Dean said. His heart ached at the thought that they would never see him again. Maybe, once they caught up to the point where he’d absorbed all of Chuck’s God-juice, maybe they could convince him to stop by one last time.

“I like this one.”

“You look like a dad,” Dean said, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. Cas, however, frowned, studying his reflection in the mirror. “I meant it in a good way,” Dean assured him, coming up behind him to kiss his cheek. “I like it, too. It suits you. Dad-stiel.”

Cas rolled his eyes but started to smile again, a faint blush creeping up his cheeks.

“I’ll see about finding you a few more colors while you try on the rest of your stuff,” Dean said.

In the end, they left the store with more new clothes than they probably needed, and as they packed their bags into the back seat, Dean offered Cas the keys.

Cas eyed them suspiciously. “You’re offering to let me drive?”

Dean shrugged. “It’s not Baby, and there’s not really anything you could do to ruin it, it’s already a piece of shit.”

Cas frowned as he took the keys. “I’m actually a very good driver, you know.”

“Oh, I know. I taught you how to drive, remember. That doesn’t mean you get to drive Baby. But you can drive Baby’s shitty cousin.”

Perhaps it was because he was shit-talking the car, or perhaps only because he let Cas drive, but the car broke down 52 minutes later.

“I stand corrected,” Dean said. “You did make it worse.”

“I hardly think this is my fault.”

“No, probably not, but you were driving, so I’m going to blame you. Come on, we’re not far from town. We can walk the rest of the way, then send a tow back for this bucket of bolts.”

The nearby town, Lake Farrow, the sign told them, was bigger than Lebanon by only a few hundred people—in the scheme of things, still a very small town. The found a mechanic just off the main road in. An older woman stepped out of the garage, wiping sweat off her brow.

“You boys break down?” she called out to them.

“What gave it away?” Dean asked.

“You’re on foot,” she said. She walked toward the tow truck, waving him over. “Come on, then, let’s get you fixed up.”

Dean turned to Cas, who was staring toward the town. “You good?” he asked.

“What?” He turned back to Dean. “Oh, yes, go on. This place seems quite idyllic, I think I’ll wander.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “You could just say _nice_ like a normal person. ‘Idyllic,’ Jesus.”

Dean hopped into cab of the truck as the woman started the engine. “So, what brings you to Lake Farrow?” she asked.

Half an hour later, they returned to the shop, Camaro in tow. “I can give her a once over and hopefully have you back on the road in a jiffy,” the mechanic, who Dean now knew as Bev, said.

“Nah, I’d rather fix her up myself. Just need a few parts.”

Bev nodded. “Get me a list of what you need, I’ll see what I can scrounge up.”

Between the work he’d already done back at the bunker, and the quick check after they’d broken down, he was fairly certain he already knew what was wrong. He jotted down the crucial parts, as well as the number to reach him at, before setting off to find Cas.

It didn’t take long to find him, though he hadn’t responded to Dean’s text yet. He just followed the road, and then a sign that read ‘Farmer’s Market’. Some things just made sense.

Cas was at a mobile coffee cart, chatting with the thirty-something barista. She was smiling as he talked, her chin resting in her hand.

“Oh, Dean!” Cas said, perking up when he saw him approach. “This is Maisie. She makes very good coffee, far better than anything we’ve ever had.”

Maisie’s eyes moved from Cas to Dean as the cup was passed into his hands.

“Well,” she said, her smile shifting; it was still present but no longer coy and playful, just friendly. “Now I know why you weren’t receptive to any of my advances.”

Cas frowned at her, confused, then looked to Dean, hoping for clarification.

“I think she was flirting with you,” Dean said. He turned to Maisie. “He _never_ realizes when someone’s flirting.”

“Oh,” Cas said, finally understanding. “Apologies.”

“My wife is like that too,” Maisie said. “Took her years to figure out I was interested.”

Dean raised an eyebrow. “You’re married and still flirting with my guy?”

She shrugged. “We’re open.”

“Ah.”

“It took us a long time too,” Cas said, as Dean finally took a sip of the coffee. “Don’t let him convince you that he is not also an idiot.”

“Holy shit,” Dean said, staring down into the cup like he was experiencing something for the first time.

“I told you,” Cas said. “It’s very good.”

“Fuck,” Dean said before taking another sip.

“Okay, if y’all think it’s that good, you really need to stop by my shop so I can bring some culture into your clearly limited experiences with coffee. How long are you guys in town for?”

“Couple days, at least,” Dean said, when Cas looked to him for an answer. “I have to do some work on the car before we move on.”

“Perfect,” she said with a smile. “The shop is on 4th and Wynd, you’ll know it when you see it. Stop by any time tomorrow morning.” She handed a second cup to Cas, now that his first had been claimed by Dean.

“Thank you,” Cas said. “I think we’ll visit some other booths now, but we will definitely be back for more.”

“Damn right you will,” she called after them.

“So, what have you been up to?” Dean asked, throwing his arm around Cas’ shoulder as they walked. He took another sip of the coffee, letting out a sound not unlike a moan.

“Mostly talking to Maisie,” he said. “Before that, I met a man who keeps bees.”

“Let me guess, he’s your new best friend?”

“Of course not, we just met. But he did tell me about his apiary, and I tried some honey. There are many people selling fresh produce; I think the farming community here is much stronger than in Lebanon.”

Dean smiled listening to Cas get so excited about it. “I didn’t know there was a farming community in Lebanon at all.”

“Well, it was _very_ small. Kansas’ main crops are wheat and corn. Of course, those are a staple in many diets, but you can hardly have rich markets like this one on wheat and corn alone. There are strawberries and apples and beets and—oh! Later in the year there will be _gourds_.”

“Slow down,” Dean said, unable to contain the laugh that bubbled out of him. He kissed Cas on the lips, but it did little to stop his train of thoughts.

“There’s also someone selling homemade pies. I was going to get you one, but I wasn’t sure which you would like best.”

“You should’ve lead with that,” he said. “But the answer is always: _any of them_.”

They spent most of the afternoon just walking around town, until they eventually checked into a Bed & Breakfast (there were no motels in Lake Farrow, according to Maisie, but the B&B was quaint without being garish or grotesque).

Bev called in the early evening to tell him that, while she had a few of the parts he needed on hand, the rest would have to be ordered and it would take a few days. With that in mind, Dean and Cas let themselves settle into their room a little, unpacking some of their things.

“Any thoughts what you’ll do tomorrow while I work on the car?” Dean asked as they climbed into bed for the night. He couldn’t get all the work done, of course, but he could at least start on it.

“Well, we should visit Maisie in the morning,” he said. “And I thought about maybe going down to the lake.”

Dean hummed. “That sounds nice.” He leaned over and kissed Cas lazily, and then… “Are we doing this right?”

“Doing what right?”

“We’ve been together for, what, a few days? And we’re in a B&B, doing the whole domestic thing. We walked around the Sunday Farmer’s Market like an old married couple.”

“Did we enjoy it?”

“Well… yeah.”

“Then I fail to see your point.”

“I don’t know,” Dean said. “It just seems like we’re not doing things how we’re expected to, you know?” Awkward first dates, and all that. Not that that was something he desired, but he had sort of expected that’s where it should lead.

Cas frowned thoughtfully. “I was an angel, and you were the righteous man who was supposed to house the most powerful archangel in creation and bring about the apocalypse. Instead, we saved the world and made free will possible. My vessel’s daughter sees you as her primary father figure. Our kid, whom we raised together before we were in any kind of relationship where raising a child is expected, will soon become the whole of divinity. I don’t think there is a template for how our relationship _should_ be.”

Dean smirked. “We’re just making it up as we go,” he said. “I guess it’s gotten us this far.”

Cas nodded and kissed him again. “If you’d like, we could go on a date, like proper couples do. In fact, I think we should. Tomorrow, perhaps.”

“We already have coffee plans,” Dean pointed out.

Cas shook his head. “Dinner. Or a movie. Or both.”

“After I’m covered in grease and sweat. Gee, sounds romantic.”

Cas kissed him.

“Oh, you _want_ me covered in grease and sweat,” Dean said, thinking back to all the times Cas had hung around to help Dean work on Baby. He kissed Cas hard, rolling over until he had the fallen angel pressed into the mattress.

Maisie’s coffee shop was, as promised, easily spotted. It was the only coffee shop anywhere near the street corner she’d told them about, but there was also an enormous narwhal painted on the window. The name, painted in the next window, read ‘Chai Curious’, a pun which Dean wasn’t sure how to even begin to explain to Cas.

“You guys made it!” Maisie said, greeting them with a cheery smile.

“You are very awake,” Dean said, closing his eyes as she spun around the room. “She must’ve been allowed her morning coffee,” he added, turning to glare at Cas, who remained unfazed.

“I can fix that; have a seat at the bar,” she said before stepping behind the counter as she tied her thick hair behind her head. “Now, yesterday you tried our Bakay Blend,” she began, before telling them all about the origins of the coffee and the notes, and Cas, of course, hung on to her every word as she gave them samples of various roasts. All of them were good, _very_ good, tasting far better than any gas station coffee. But Dean wasn’t some coffee snob. He didn’t _need_ his coffee to taste like a sunset or wild berries or whatever. It just needed to get him going in the morning.

Still, he enjoyed every sip.

“Have either of you tried a latte before?” she asked after a while.

“Isn’t that just milk?” Dean asked.

“Mostly, yeah, but there’s also espresso, and sometimes flavored syrup. This,” she said, handing both of them yet another tiny cup. “Is my current favorite flavor. You’re going to love it.”

They sipped their tiny lattes, which, despite being mostly milk, still tasted like coffee and…

Dean once again found himself staring into his cup in confused awe, while Cas made a noise of surprise next to him.

“How did you make it taste like pancakes.”

Maisie grinned. “That’s the secret, innit.”

Dean spent most of the day working on the car, while Cas did whatever it was Cas did. When Dean returned in the early evening, he found Cas sitting cross-legged on the bed, watching a nature documentary about various wildlife native to the area.

“I hope you haven’t been sitting like that all day,” Dean said, kicking off his boots. “You’ll ruin your back.”

“No, I went for a walk and spent some time at the lake. It’s very serene and beautiful. But I was curious about the fish, so I found this documentary.”

Dean couldn’t help the smile that formed on his face. He always complained about Cas watching his nature shows in the Dean cave, but it never really bothered him. It was endearing, and, at worst, a mild inconvenience if Dean wanted to watch something.

He sat down next to Cas, kissing the corner of his mouth. “Nerd,” he said.

“Nature is incredible,” Cas said, his eyes still glued to the screen. “I used to marvel at how God had made so many unique and beautiful creatures.”

“Used to?” Dean questioned. It sure seemed like he was still doing it.

“God had little to do with it,” Cas said. “The creatures created themselves. That’s more beautiful, don’t you think?”

“I supposed, yeah,” Dean said, kissing him again, before standing up and starting to remove his grease-stained clothes. “I’m gonna get cleaned up. Join me?”

Cas tore his eyes away from the television and smiled up at Dean, then got up to follow him into the bathroom.

Later, they did finally get around to going on that date—their first date, technically, but halfway through dinner, as they were laughing about something Jack had done during Fake Christmas with Mrs. Butters, Dean realized… it was no different than any other dinner they’d had together over the years. They’d been on probably hundreds of dates without even realizing it.

Maybe the reason all of _this_ came so easily… was because they’d already been doing it. They’d been in a committed relationship for so long, they just didn’t realize.

“We really are a pair of idiots, aren’t we,” Dean said, causing Cas to furrow his brow in confusion. Whatever he had been saying just before that, it must not have been a logical response. “I love you,” Dean said, as if it clarified anything for the angel.

“I love you, too,” Cas said, still confused.

They went out the next night, and the night after that. Like it was the most normal thing in the world. For them, it was pretty fucking abnormal, but ‘normal’ was hunting monsters and coming home bloody. Though the whole thing was foreign and new, Dean enjoyed the change of pace that had him covered in oil and grease instead of viscera.

It was late in the morning, but they were still in bed—Dean had done all the work he could on the car, still waiting on a few parts to ship in from out of town, and though Cas had plans for them, none of it was until later in the afternoon. Lazy mornings were rare. Less rare now, it seemed, but they'd rather not waste it.

Scooby Doo was playing quietly, providing more white noise than actual entertainment, as Dean was lost in thought, watching Cas read a book he’d picked up in the downstairs library.

Dean was so goddamn _lucky_.

Somewhere out there, though maybe not at that exact moment, another Dean and another Cas were fighting, and Dean was saying things meant only to hurt, when what he really wanted to say was, _I love you_ and _please don’t go_.

But after everything, after all the times he’d lost his angel, thought he was gone for good, after all the times he yelled and pushed him away, he was somehow still here.

He ducked under Cas’ arm, resting his head on his chest and wrapping his arms around his middle. He buried his face in the soft fabric of Cas’ shirt, and just breathed.

“Are you okay?” Cas asked, moving his book to one hand, freeing the other to run it gently through Dean’s hair.

“’M fine,” he said, his voice muffled. “Just thinkin’.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Dean shook his head, taking solace in the rise and fall Cas’ chest as he breathed.

“ _Once upon a time_ ,” Cas began to read.

“You’re like halfway through the book, no way does it say that there,” Dean said, closing his eyes.

“It’s a collection of short stories, shh. _Once upon a time,_ ” he began again. “ _in the middle of winter, when the flakes of snow were falling like feather from the sky, a queen sat at a window sewing, and the frame of the window was made of black ebony. And whilst she was sewing and looking out of the window at the snow…_ ”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the delayed, I've been super busy and also not completely sure how I wanted to do this chapter

A few days in Lake Farrow quickly turned into over a week, and then two. Dean wasn’t in any particular hurry to leave though; he felt strangely at home in the close-knit, small town community. He was enjoying their time there, and Cas seemed to be, too.

“How’s it going with the car?” Cas asked, when Dean retuned to the inn that evening, a bit later than usual.

Dean knew he shouldn’t lie, that he should just be honest and tell Cas what he was thinking. “Good,” he said instead. “Just a couple more days, and I think we’ll be ready to hit the road.”

“Oh, okay. Good.” But it sounded like the opposite of good. Had Dean read everything completely wrong? Did he really hate it here so much that he couldn’t wait to get away?

“Alright, what’s eating you?” Dean asked.

“Nothing,” Cas said quickly. Not nothing.

“No, we’re not doing that shit,” Dean said, knowing full well how big of a hypocrite he was being. “Hiding things never ends well. What’s wrong?”

Cas avoided his gaze. “I like it here,” he said. “But we said we’d just drive for a while.”

A smile cracked at Dean’s lips as suddenly it made sense. “Put your boots on,” he instructed.

“What?”

“Put your boots on and grab your coat. I need to show you something.”

“Dean, it’s late,” Cas said, though he was already putting on his new hiking boots. He’d been spending so much time walking through the woods, or by the lake, not having them had seemed foolish.

“Yeah, as if there is anything that goes bump in the night that we can’t handle,” Dean said with a slight roll of his eye. He re-laced his own boots, tucking in a small blade before rolling down the cuff of his jeans to cover it.

Cas finished tying up his boots and started to put on his coat with Dean all but dragging him out of their room.

“Where are you two off to at this hour?” the innkeeper asked as Dean clamored down the stairs with Cas not far behind.

“Just going for a walk, Mrs. Beaverton,” Dean said. “We’ll be back in an hour or two.”

“Ah, it’s such a nice night,” she said, a little bit wistfully. “I wish Mr. Beaverton invited me out for evening walks occasionally.”

Dean stopped with his hand on the door and turned to look at her. “Ma’am, sometimes you gotta do it yourself,” he said.

“Where are we going, Dean?” Cas asked. Dean had barely said a word since they left the inn, he’d just taken Cas’ hand, leading him as they walked side-by-side, to wherever it was he had yet to disclose. They had taken the main road for a bit, then veered off toward the lake, though they weren’t following a route Cas was familiar with. The trees weren’t thick here, and there was a well-worn footpath between them.

“The car is done,” Dean said. “I finished all the major stuff days ago; I’ve just been working on cosmetic issues.”

Cas furrowed his brow. “You lied.”

Dean nodded. “Sorry.”

“Why?”

“We said we’d just drive for a while,” Dean said, echoing Cas’ earlier words. “But you seemed…” He paused, shrugging his shoulders. “Like you liked it here. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you as happy as you have been the past couple weeks. I didn’t want to take that away.”

“Dean,” Cas said softly. “It’s not about the place. It’s you.”

“I know,” Dean said. He didn’t doubt it, not for a second; he knew he was a major contribution to Cas’ happiness, just as Cas was a major contribution to his own. “But you like it here. And I like it here, too.”

“You still haven’t told me where we’re going,” Cas said. They were far from the auto shop by now, and far from just about everything else too. Cas tried to map out their journey in his mind, but without his angelic powers, he really only had a vague idea of where they were.

“We’re almost there,” Dean said. “We said we’d drive until we found a reason to stop. So… what if we stop now. Here.” Dean stopped walking then, turning to face Cas. “This house is for sale,” he said, nodding to the cabin behind him; it was still a bit in the distance, but fully visible now. “I’ve been thinking about it for days and… It’s small, and it needs some work, but it’s on the water and the property is big enough that you should have space for little bee houses or a garden or whatever. We could… make it ours.”

“What?” Cas blinked several times, trying to process all that Dean was telling him. “You want to… to stay here? To buy this house?” Dean nodded. “Why didn’t you say something before?”

Dean shrugged and adverted his eyes, feeling a little bit ashamed.

Cas brought his hand up to Dean’s jaw, pulling his gaze back, studying him with those piercing eyes that always seemed to break right through him. “You want this?” Cas asked. Dean nodded. “For me, or for you?”

“Both,” Dean said, surprised by his own certainty.

Cas nodded. “Okay.”

“Okay?” Dean asked.

“I mean, can we even buy a house? Financially or legally?”

Dean laughed, took Cas’ hand again and resumed leading him toward the cabin. “Charlie scrubbed the Winchester identities pretty clean, but we never use them. In theory, yeah, it should be good enough to pass whatever. And… Bev offered me a job this morning.”

“What?” Cas found himself asking once again.

“Since her partner died, she doesn’t have much time to spend with her grand-nieces, and I guess she was watching me fix up the car and something impressed her.”

“You are very good at fixing cars,” Cas said.

“Hell yeah, I am.” Then he shrugged. “Anyway, she offered me a job. No benefits, but it pays well, and I mean… it’s not like we got paid anything before, and this requires 100% less beheadings than my last job, so I call that a bonus. I told her I had to talk to you first, but…” He trailed off, shrugging his shoulders again. “I think I’d like to stay.”

“I would too,” Cas said, smiling. He tugged at Dean’s hand, pulling him toward the house so they could take a closer look.

It wasn’t directly on the lake, but rather on a rocky stream that ran off the lake—and perhaps that was better, more private than the lake that drew in locals and tourists alike. The house itself was two stories, with small bedrooms but a big living room. A rickety porch wrapped around two sides, and though they had followed an obscure footpath in, there was an unpaved driveway that lead back to the road.

The property was unkempt, not quite reclaimed by nature, but well on its way. It would need some work, just as the house would, just as they did, but it was still beautiful.

“I don’t dance,” Dean said, when one of Cas’ farmers market ‘friends’ invited them to a town shindig.

“Dean,” Cas scolded softly.

“It’s not just dancing,” the cabbage salesman said. “It’s more of a summer festival—lots of food and activities.

If there was one way to get Dean anywhere, it was food; it didn’t take much convincing before he agreed to tag along to the festival.

The town square had been decorated with lights and streamers, and there seemed to be a live band playing some gentle percussion for ambiance.

As promised, there was ample food, which Dean took a helping of at every opportunity.

“Well, well, if it isn’t the second cutest queer couple in Lake Farrow,” Maisie said. She was walking arm-in-arm with an Asian-American woman. “The first is, of course, us.”

“I’m Kate,” the woman said, extending her hand to each of them in turn. “You must be Dean, and Cas.”

“She’s mentioned us?” Dean asked.

Maisie shrugged.

“She hasn’t stopped talking about you since you arrived,” Kate told them. “But it’s a small town, you’re new, the novelty will wear off eventually.”

“That’s good,” Cas said. “We were actually thinking about staying.”

Maisie’s eyes went wide with glee. “I heard a rumor you were looking at the house out on Atlas. It’s a lovely place, but you know they say it’s haunted?”

Dean and Cas shared a look, and both shrugged. “I think we can handle that,” Cas said.

Maisie’s smile grew. “I really hope you get it then; the town would love to have you.”

“Thanks, I think,” Dean said, wholly uncertain how to take that.

“We were just on our way to grab a beer, you want anything?” Kate asked.

“No, thanks,” Dean said, causing Cas to halt his response, looking at Dean in surprise.

“No, thank you,” Cas said, recovering briefly to offer the girls a smile. When they were gone, he looked at Dean again, this time a confused sort of curiosity housed in his eyes.

Dean shrugged. “I figure… new liver. I should probably treat it a little better.”

Cas nodded slowly. “Yes, especially because I’m no longer able to heal any damage you do to yourself. I’m just surprised.”

Dean shrugged again. “Save the awe for when I’ve actually made it more than a couple of weeks.” Or through a disaster.

Cas smiled. “I’m proud of you, regardless.”

Dean rolled his eyes, his cheeks turning faintly pink.

“Let’s go dancing,” Cas said, taking one of his hands and pulling him toward the old barn that had been repurposed into a dance hall.

“Dude, come on,” Dean whined. “I hate dancing.”

“How do you know, if we’ve never done it?”

Dean, begrudgingly, agreed to dance, but only because Cas was so enthusiastic about it.

And, despite himself, he did have a good time. He relaxed as he and Cas spun around the room, paying little attention to dancing _right_ , and instead focused on themselves and whatever felt right.

“You’re having fun,” Cas said, pulling Dean close as the music slowed down.

“How dare you accuse me of having a good time.”

Cas smiled, resting his head on Dean’s shoulder.

“You seem happy,” Dean said, his tone falling serious.

“I am.”

“As happy as you were the day the Empty took you?”

Cas hummed and shook his head. “Happier.”

“Good,” Dean said, holding him tight. “Don’t do that again.”

“I’ll try.”

“No, I’m serious. You never saw… what I was like when you were gone. I’m not me without you.”

Cas smiled sadly at him, bringing his hand to Dean’s jaw. He pressed a gentle kiss to his lips. “Okay,” he said softly. “But you have to promise never to ask me to kill you again. Because I never could, and it broke something in me every time you asked.”

Dean nodded. “Deal. No more dying. We’re gonna live until we’re old and grey.”

They danced a while longer, until they were hardly dancing at all, instead just swaying vaguely to the music around them.

“Thank you,” Dean said.

“For what?”

“For makin’ me do this,” he said. “For being patient with me.”

They checked—the house, if it had ever been haunted, it wasn’t anymore. Maybe another hunter had already handled it, or maybe it was just a local urban legend.

Over the course of the next week, they jumped through far less hoops than they were anticipating with the realtor, and in no time at all, they were standing in front of their new house, proud new owners of the two-and-a-half-bedroom cabin. Dean slung his arm around Cas’ waist, smiling at their little achievement.

“How weird are our lives that this is easily the strangest thing that’s ever happened to us?” he asked.

“Heaven, Hell, Purgatory, Empty; our child is literally the spawn of Satan, I was an angel, you were a demon… I think it might be more accurate to say that this is the normal-est thing that’s ever happened.”

“Yeah. For us, that’s weird.”

Cas smiled and kissed Dean’s temple.

“Maybe we should go to Ikea,” Dean suggested a few moments later. The house came partially furnished—a dining room table, a couch, and a bed—but was otherwise empty, and it wasn’t like they had come with a lot of belongings of their own. They each had a duffle full of clothes, and definitely more weapons than the average homeowner, but even all the stuff they’d left behind in Lebanon… well, most of it had come with the bunker. Neither of them owned much of anything, certainly not enough to furnish and decorate a house, no matter how small.

“What’s an Ikea?”

“I’m pretty sure that’s another human rite of passage. I’ve never actually been. Let’s go.”

Cas grabbed his arm to stop him, then pulled him into a firm kiss. “How about in the morning?” he suggested, dragging him back toward the front door.

They settled into their house easily. They spent a weekend building new furniture (with only minimal swearing from each of them), and Dean spent another weekend fixing the roof while Cas started building an apiary and setting up a plot of land for growing produce. Before they knew it, it was all coming together. It was home.

Dean spent most of the day down at the auto shop, but never so much time that he was too tired when he returned home. Some nights they went out for dinner, and some nights they stayed in—sometimes Dean cooked, but usually they cooked together, and Cas was getting better at it every day.

His garden was coming along great. Some of the early crops came right into the kitchen, somehow tasting far better than anything they bought in town, and anything they couldn’t use themselves, Cas brought out to the farmer’s market.

“I planted some berries,” he said, a couple months into their homesteading. “The blueberries will take a long time to mature, but we should have strawberries soon enough.”

Dean smiled. “I can make pies from your garden,” he said. Cas nodded.

Dean had spent half the day wandering; he’d gone down to the lake and walked across the stones as he thought about Sam and Jack. He missed them. He missed Claire, and Jody, and Donna, and he missed his mom, and…

Once upon a time, it had been just he and Sam, brothers against the world. The only family they had known was their dad and his crusade. Dean had never thought they needed more than that.

Of course, as the years went on, they made their own family, a real one, built on love and respect, rather than—

He didn’t like to think ill of John Winchester. He’d done the best he could, but his best… well, it had really fucked them up, hadn’t it?

Dean kicked a stone out into the lake. John Winchester was family. But family didn’t end in blood. Family was the thing they’d made for themselves, the one thing Dean had that he hadn’t somehow destroyed. And he missed them so goddamn much.

Eventually, he made his way back to the cabin. The solitude, while calm and serene, hadn’t had quite the effect he’d hoped.

Cas was in the living room, his feet pulled up on the couch. The tv was playing, but he seemed more focused on the knitted blanket in his lap—part of a knitted blanket; he’d started on it a few weeks ago, but progress seemed slow. He was definitely getting less irritated with it, which Dean supposed was a good sign.

“Did you have a nice walk?” he asked, looking up at Dean when he entered.

Dean shrugged, making his way over to the couch. He moved a couple pillows out of the way, and when Cas started to move to make room, Dean stopped him, instead sliding his body between the former angel’s knees, lying down with his back to Cas’ chest.

“Everything okay?” Cas asked, putting down his knitting to run his fingers through Dean’s hair.

Dean nodded and closed his eyes. “I just miss Sammy. And Jack, and everyone.”

“Me too,” Cas said. “But we’ll see them again soon enough.”

They never really talked about the fact that they might never see Jack again, that if he kept his word, they’d already said their goodbyes. Dean knew that it shouldn’t matter, that it should be enough just knowing he was out there, one with the universe or whatever. But he missed their kid, and if he thought about it for too long… it would eat him alive.

“I know,” Dean said. “Five months down, eight-ish to go.” He wasn’t sure exactly how long it was. They tried, in general, not to think about what their other selves might be doing at any given moment, keeping track only of the major events they awaited—the day Chuck would be de-powered, and the day Dean would die. Both were still a ways off. And most days that was okay. Most days it was enough that he and Cas had each other and a home, and, perhaps most strange of all, _friends_.

Today was rough, but maybe tomorrow would be better.

“I don’t wanna go back,” Dean whispered one evening, as they settled into the couch to watch some TV. His voice was so quiet, Cas thought for a moment he’d imagined it.

“What?” he asked.

“I don’t want to go back,” Dean repeated, his voice louder, but still uncertain. He kept his eyes from meeting Cas’. “I mean, of course I want to go back and tell Sam we’re okay, once everything is over, but… I like our life here. I like our friends, our home. I don’t want to go back to hunting and…”

“Neither do I,” Cas said. He chuckled softly. “I thought you would hate this. I thought this life would be the worst thing to you, and you’d grow to resent me for wanting it.”

“Never,” Dean said. “I know I wasn’t very… vocal about it before, but I’ve wanted this for a while. Quiet. No more monsters.” Even when he talked with Sam about taking a vacation, he really just wanted to be done hunting altogether. If he knew the world was safe.

“You’re talking about retiring. Like, for good?”

Dean nodded.

“We don’t know a lot of hunters who’ve successfully retired.”

“No, most of them die before they get there. Hell, it took us a handful of deaths apiece just to get ourselves this far.”

“No more monsters,” Cas repeated.

“Think we can make it work?” Dean asked.

“I know I want to.”

“Me too.”

Dean walked sleepily down the stairs, finding Cas awake on the couch, reading the morning paper.

“Why are we awake?” Dean asked, lying down on the couch, his feet resting in Cas’ lap.

“You didn’t need to be,” he said, lowering the paper to look at Dean, who had already closed his eyes and was shoving a teacup shaped pillow under his head. “I couldn’t sleep.”

“Something bothering you?” Dean mumbled.

“No,” Cas said. “Just couldn’t sleep.”

“’mkay. How are you doing, lately?” he asked, as though he didn’t check in constantly.

“I’m fine,” Cas assured him.

Dean peaked his eyes open to study the fallen angel. “Does it bother you that I keep bringing it up?” He was constantly worried that Cas wasn’t coping well with his lack of grace, but maybe it didn’t help matters that he asked so often.

Cas shook his head. “I’m okay,” he said. “I’ve had years to acclimate to losing my powers, now that they’re almost completely gone… I don’t know. I guess I feel like I’m free of them. Go back to sleep.”

“Okay,” Dean said, throwing an arm over his face.

He barely started to doze off again before he heard Cas say “Uh oh.”

“Why do I not like the sound of that?”

“Uh. Nothing, it’s fine.”

“Cas,” he said, drawing out the sound.

Cas sighed. “I think something is in the woods outside town,” he said. “Possibly a werewolf, but the article doesn’t get into specifics.”

Dean groaned and sat up, motioning for Cas to hand him the paper, though his eyes were still closed. Only once the paper was in his hands did he open them and begin to read. “Alright, yeah, this is probably one of ours. How have we not heard about this already?” Dean asked. News traveled especially fast in small towns, and usually word-of-mouth got everything around long before it made print. But somehow a local _and_ an out-of-towner had been brutally butchered in the forest over the past few nights, and they hadn’t heard a peep until now?

“We haven’t left the house in like three days,” Cas said. Dean grinned and kissed him. He hadn’t realized it had been that long, but it had been a really good weekend.

“Okay, we need more info,” Dean said, looking back at the paper.

“Well, our usual method certainly won’t work now,” Cas said. They could hardly convince anyone that they were FBI or whatever _now_ , not after living among them for a few months.

“Nah, it might be easier this way.” Just last week, Mrs. Elmhurst had told them, completely unprompted, her entire life’s story, up to and including enough details to get her put away for the murder of her third husband, though she never came right out and said it. Dean sighed. “You know this is our fault, right?”

“How do you figure?”

“Like a week ago we said ‘no more monsters’ and now there’s a monster in our back yard. The irony is inescapable, and the universe hates us.”

“I think you’re being a little overdramatic.”

“Yeah, probably. I’ll start the coffee.”

“Excuse me, do you have a minute to answer some questions?”

Her voice caught him by surprise, and he really didn’t have time to process what was happening before he came face to face with none other than Claire Novak. Her mouth was open, poised to continue her line of thought. She closed it abruptly in surprise.

They exchanged confused expressions. “I thought you guys were near Charleston,” she said.

Dean opened his mouth to reply, though he had no idea how he was going to explain this one away. In what could only be described as both a blessing and a curse, Cas chose that exact moment to step out of Chai Curious, two coffees in hand.

Claire looked from Dean, to Cas, back to Dean, and then to Cas again, her confusion growing every step of the way. “Weren’t you just in Missoula?” she asked. “And… what are you _wearing_?”

“Oh boy,” Dean said, retrieving his coffee from Cas’ hand and taking a large gulp.

“The future,” Claire repeated.

They had taken one of the picnic tables outside the café, bought Claire a coffee and… told her the truth. Enough of it, anyway.

There hardly had a choice in the matter. If they didn’t tell her, she’d say something to the present-day Team Free Will, and it would up-end everything.

“Just a few months,” Cas said.

“It’s complicated, and if you think about it for too long, it’ll make your head hurt,” Dean assured her. “But we’re really us, just with little more knowledge under our belts.”

“And you’re together,” she said, taking a sip of her coffee. She almost laughed at their expressions. “It’s kind of obvious. I mean, there was always something there, but your whole vibe is different. Of course, I’m still not totally sold on you not being demons or shifters, but checking would cause such a scene, I figured it could wait.”

“You’re a smart kid,” Dean said. Claire shrugged.

“So, what are you guys doing _here_?” she asked.

Dean and Cas shared a look again, unsure exactly how much truth they ought to tell her. “Laying low until we can reintegrate with the timeline,” Cas said.

“Just livin’, mostly,” Dean said. “I’ve been working at the auto shop; he’s been growing vegetables.”

“You live here?” she asked. “Like normal people?”

Dean nodded. “Until this morning, we haven’t hunted in… almost 6 months.”

“Wow,” she said, her eyes going wide. “Congrats, I guess. You do seem… lighter. Happier.”

“We’re tryin’.”

“So, about this werewolf, then,” she said, sitting forward in her chair. “I can handle it on my own.”

Dean shook his head. “You can handle it with backup.”

She rolled her eyes, but there was no real frustration in her expression. “I hunt plenty of things on my own, you know.”

“We know,” Cas said. “But we don’t like it. And while you’re here, we’re coming with you.”

“Ugh, you guys are such _dads_.” She said it like it was supposed to be an insult, but there was a fond smile resting on her lips.


End file.
